The Autumn War Vol. 04: Succession

"Open fire!"

They filled the trench with tungsten, automatic fire cutting a swathe through the Bugs, the high walls of the trenches boxing them in. It was like shooting fish in a barrel - they had nowhere to go - the slugs punching through them. The rounds overpenetrated, shattering the resin wall directly behind them, the force enough to lift the Drones off their feet and toss them back. In a single burst, they were knocked to the ground, their carapaces perforated with bleeding holes.

One of the Bugs had known better than to be so foolhardy, Evan watching its outline on his visor as it ducked out of cover from behind the corner, aiming a rifle at them. It was distracted as a grenade bounced off the wall behind it, the insect torn apart by the red-hot shrapnel before it even had a chance to react.

"Keep pushing up!" Simmons ordered, the team continuing down the trench.

There was so much noise, so many other firefights happening all around them, but Evan had to focus on the here and now. He leapt over the dead Drones, following Borzka as he rounded the corner with his bayonet at the ready. The unfortunate Bug that had been hit with the frag grenade had been splattered against the resin like a fly on a windshield, the wounds in its shell still smoking.

"Heads up!" Hernandez warned. "We got a squad comin' in on the left flank!"

A group of maybe forty Drones were rushing across the open ground, making a mad dash for their trench, ducking low as gunfire zipped above their heads. It was like a scene from World War One - soldiers making a desperate charge across no man's land.

"I'm on 'em!" Sunny declared, wheeling around to face them. She braced herself, the suit's clawed toes cracking the resin at the lip of the trench, its stance lowering to give the shoulder-mounted gun a better firing arc. Thirty-mill slugs painted molten trails above Evan's head, chewing through the approaching squads. The Bugs spread out, weaving and dodging, but half a dozen of them had been felled in a single burst. Another three were dropped, their outlines vanishing from Evan's feed.

"Get some suppressive fire on them!" Simmons ordered, the squad rising from cover to aim their weapons. Evan lifted his head just in time to see another of the Drones explode into a shower of viscera as a round caught it in the chest, carrying enough energy to tear it open like a ripe fruit. The rest were still coming, undeterred, and he aimed his XMR at them. They were juking and dodging, making themselves as hard to hit as possible, but his visor helped him track them in the haze of smoke and dust that was being blown across the field.

Their gunfire joined Sunny's, most of the enemy number dropping, but a few were getting close. Four of them made it to the trench, leaping down onto the Marines. Tatzi caught one, raising her bayoneted rifle into the air, using the Drone's momentum to make it impale itself. It slid down the barrel a good couple of inches, Evan hearing a hiss as the hot coils seared its exposed flesh.

Another landed on its feet between Aster and Cardinal, whipping around to face Aster, a pair of long swords sculpted from chitin flashing as it brandished them. It lunged at her, but Cardinal was faster, pouncing on it from behind. She managed to restrain the struggling creature, keeping its blade-wielding arms at bay, one of her upper arms wrapped around its neck. She gave it a kick to the back of the leg that forced it to take a knee, Aster taking the opportunity to draw a UNN combat knife from a belt on her thigh. The Jarilan slew the creature with a practiced stab to its chest, pushing the serrated steel to the hilt between its armor plates. The Drone went limp, and Cardinal tossed it aside, Aster shaking the blood from her blade.

Garcia was thrown to the ground as a Drone landed on him, the thing showing no concern for its own wellbeing, the blow knocking the wind out of the Marine. It drove a chitin dagger into his chest piece, aiming for his vital organs, but the plate stopped it dead. As it struggled to withdraw the blade, Simmons wheeled around, taking off the thing's head with a quick burst of well-placed fire. The decapitated body slumped on top of Garcia, and he rolled it off him, wiping green ichor with the consistency of mucous from his visor.

The final Drone dropped into the trench a few meters behind them, its compound eyes reflecting the flashes of gunfire. This one was different from the rest, a long, segmented tube trailing from its helmet to make it look like it was wearing a gas mask. It had a large tank on its back, and it raised a weapon at them, a bright pilot light igniting at its tip. Evan didn't need to be told that it was a flamethrower. Brooks spun around to aim at it, but the thing had the drop on them. In a moment, the trench would be filled with boiling plasma fire.

Sunny came barreling in from the Drone's right, the resin wall beneath her collapsing under her weight as she stepped down into the trench. There was a flash of colorful plasma as she ignited her shield, wavering energy flickering between the metal studs in its surface. She put her suit between the squad and the flamethrower, Evan watching emerald flames lick at it, Sunny taking cover behind her barrier. A moment later, the stream of emerald flames stopped, and she lunched forward as she swung her heavy shield.

She caught the Drone in its side, crushing it against the trench wall, the resin cracking beneath it. Her plasma field was still ignited, and the Drone began to cook under its heat, its shell running like a liquid as it melted. It wasn't a fate that Evan would wish upon anyone, but the Drone had tried to do the same to them. Sunny drew back to let its scorched body fall, the unfortunate insect collapsing in a smoking heap at her feet.

"Thanks for havin' our backs, Sunny," Hernandez said as he lowered his rifle.

"No problem," she replied, her plasma shield fizzling out. "Gotta keep my endo boys in one piece."

"Hey, gimme a hand?" Garcia asked as he gestured to the knife that was jutting from his chest plate. Borzka walked over to him, gripping the haft and giving it a yank. When it didn't budge, he let his rifle hang from its sling, placing his second hand on the Marine's chest. He gave it another tug, almost lifting the man off the ground.

"Just pull harder!" Garcia complained. Borzka cocked his head as he examined the blade, then he drew back his hand, striking it from the side. It snapped, leaving its tip still embedded in the armor. "Alright, that works too..."

"Wear it as a trophy," Borzka replied, lifting Garcia's XMR off the ground and thrusting it into his hands.

"A trophy that reduces the armor's overall integrity, but if you say so."

Evan took advantage of the lull in battle to get a look out over the trenches. He could see three entire tank companies from his viewpoint, some three dozen Kodiaks pushing up through the Bug defenses, hammering what few bunkers remained intact with their main guns. Another artillery strike rippled across the landscape in the distance, throwing tons of earth high into the air.

"Keep moving!" Simmons ordered, leading them further into the trench network.

***

Evan reloaded his rifle, letting the red-hot coils beneath his barrel shroud cool, taking a moment to catch his breath.

"You good?" he asked, watching Jade brush some stray dirt off her carapace. "That mortar hit way too close."

"None the worse for wear," she replied, giving him a smile through her visor.

The rest of the squad came rushing around the corner, stepping over the slug-riddled corpses of the Drones. They had come across a squad taking refuge from an artillery strike in the ruins of one of the gun towers and had cleared them out. The engagements had been so numerous and relentless that they were starting to blend together now, minutes slipping into hours. The team had been hopping from trench to trench, bunker to bunker, the battalion inching its way across the hellscape. They were about halfway to the base of the hill now, fighting bitterly for every kilometer.

"That's this trench clear," Simmons said, checking in on his radio. "Fucking hell, Foxtrot didn't plug enough Bug holes. They had a squad of critters pop up behind the line and get the drop on them."

"Do they need help?" Jade asked.

"They're being reinforced by an airborne company, nothing we need to worry about."

"What's our next objective?" Brooks asked. He paused to lean against the nearby wall of the ruined structure, reaching for his canteen. Radiologicals were still above safety levels, so he had it connected via a little valve that screwed on in place of the cap. It was connected to a straw inside his helmet via a tube that ran through the suit. "We moving up to the next trench?" he added, pausing to take another drink.

"Negative. We need to wait for the Kodiaks to break through that defensive line," Simmons replied as he lifted his head above the lip of the trench. He looked out over the fields, scanning the terrain ahead of them. "The Bugs are dug in. We're not getting past that without heavy support."

Sunny came lumbering over from behind a ruined wall, her suit now sporting numerous burn marks from their prior engagements. She paused to glance at the defenses ahead of them, her higher stature giving her a better view.

"It looks like they might have some Scuttlers buried behind the line," she mused. "I'm seeing some very suspicious mounds of dirt."

Evan glanced in the same direction. There was a stretch of no man's land a couple of hundred meters across that separated the next trench from theirs, its surface pocked with craters from artillery shells. There was a mostly unbroken line of monofilament fences that were three rows deep blocking their path, and beyond them was a trench that was still occupied. Their bunkers and towers had been destroyed, but if Sunny was right, they had moved in armor to help bolster their ranks.

"Hold fast, they're on their way," Simmons said as he ducked into cover.

Evan took a moment to take a drink, extending the straw inside his helmet with a press of the touch panel near his temple, pursing his lips around it. They had been fighting for the better part of a day with little time for rest, and he had to stay hydrated. As much as he would have loved to open his visor and get a taste of fresh air, it wasn't worth exposing himself to radiation or chemical agents, so he would have to be satisfied with his suit's built-in cooling system.

They didn't have to wait long for the armored element of their mechanized company to arrive, the eleven tanks trundling over the trench some distance to the squad's left, bridging the narrow gap on their tracks. They would usually number twelve, but one of them had been disabled by mines earlier in the operation. A Crocodile was leading the way, its scarred prow lowered, but the formation halted on the near side of the fences.

Before Evan could ask why, an artillery warning marker appeared on his HUD, outlining a danger zone that encompassed the fortifications just ahead of them.

"Danger close!" Simmons warned. "Get your heads down until they give the all-clear."

They hunkered down in the trench, the two Borealans having to crouch to get their heads out of view. A few tense moments later, the ground shook as a barrage hammered the position ahead of the tanks, a wall of smoke blown by the shock waves washing over their heads like a tide. Small pebbles and fragments of debris rained down into their trench, Evan feeling something bounce off the top of his helmet. Only when the warning markers had vanished from his visor did he raise his head again, seeing the tank company advancing into the rising plume of smoke. The Crocodile pushed through the monofilament fence, tearing a hole in it, the rest of the vehicles following behind. He noted that a Drone had been thrown clear out of its trench by one of the blasts and had landed on the fence, the thin strands slicing it apart like cheese wire.

As the smoke cleared, Evan got a view of the trench, where the squads of Drones were making a strategic retreat rather than attempting to deal with the incoming armor. Had they finally learned their lesson, or was the Queen trying to conserve what forces she had left? That was the problem with expending your soldiers like ammunition - you would eventually run dry.

The tanks advanced towards them, their blisters pouring fire into the fleeing insects. On the other side of the trench, a mound of earth began to shift, Evan glimpsing a flash of red and orange as a segmented leg emerged. It was a Scuttler, the Bug tank digging itself out of its hiding place, ash and soil pouring off its spiky carapace. The living vehicle lifted itself out of the ground just enough to expose its turret, keeping its hull buried, the exposed metal of its plasma cannon shining as it swiveled to aim at the Kodiaks. The tank's worm-like sensory organ breached the ground nearby, acting as a kind of periscope, its antennae waving as it sought out its targets.

More Scuttlers surfaced nearby, Evan counting ten of the things forming a cordon to prevent the Kodiaks from passing. The tank company had already spotted them, grinding to a stop, their guns turning on the enemy as they rotated on their tracks to put their thick frontal armor towards the Bugs.

There were flashes of light as the two groups exchanged fire, bright bolts of plasma splashing against the ceramic plating that lined the hulls of Kodiaks. The Scuttlers might be able to penetrate the side and rear armor if they landed a lucky shot, but facing them head-on, their weapons simply lacked the energy to penetrate. One of the Kodiaks lost a cheek-mounted missile launcher as it took a stray round from a Scuttler, the munitions inside igniting, a series of explosions rocking it. One of the missiles streaked away, spiraling as it jetted propellant. The crew ejected the damaged component, the burning launcher dropping to the ground beside the vehicle's treads. It didn't seem like any permanent damage had been done.

The Scuttlers, on the other hand, were defenseless against the AP sabots fired by the cannons. The projectiles tore through their carapaces like paper, the immense energy that they dumped carving out massive, bleeding craters in their shells. The one that Evan had seen dig its way out of the ground took a sabot dead-center, the shot tearing off its entire turret, depositing the twisted wreckage on the ground behind it. The wound exposed the socket where it joined to the Scuttler's body, a round hole that was filled with a blend of mechanical components and what looked like torn entrails, bodily fluids seeping down its spiky flanks.

Still mobile, the Scuttler clambered out of its dugout, shaking off its covering of soil as it aimed one of its rocket pods at the Kodiaks. Before it could fire, the same tank hit it with a follow-up shot, this one punching into its hull just above its beak. The blow knocked it to the ground, where it lay on its side, its eight legs curling up beneath its belly.

One of the Scuttlers further along the line exploded violently as its volatile plasma tanks were ruptured, sending chunks of burning meat high into the air, which rained down to splatter the hulls of the MBTs. In only a couple of minutes, all ten of the enemy vehicles had been reduced to burning - or bleeding - wrecks, and the Kodiaks had taken little damage other than some scorched paint and a busted launcher. They lurched into motion again, driving deeper into the fortifications, picking off the Drones as they went.

"Not so fuckin' tough when they have to fight on an even playin' field," Hernandez spat, no doubt recalling the ambush on their convoy.

"Time to move," Garcia added, preparing to lift himself out of the trench. "We need to get across before-"

"Hold," Simmons interrupted, kneeling with a finger to his helmet. "I'm getting a priority transmission."

Evan tapped into the channel, hearing a distorted voice come through on the squad's network.

"Delta-seventeen, you are ordered to reroute to the following coordinates."

"On who's authority?" Simmons asked, clearly confused by the request. "We're under orders from the battalion commander of the UNN Omaha to advance on the Ant Hill."

"Well, you're under new orders now," the voice replied. "I'm transmitting the authorization codes as we speak. You're the closest squad to our position, so get your baby-blue asses over here ASAP."

The squad exchanged confused glances as Simmons tapped at his wrist display, then he stood up, giving them a shrug.

"The codes check out. I guess we've been reassigned."

"To what, exactly?" Foster asked.

"I suppose we don't need to know," Simmons replied. "All I have are coordinates. Sunny," he added, turning to glance at her towering suit. "What about you?"

"My orders are to reinforce your squad and help keep you endos alive," she replied, peering back at him through the inscrutable lenses of her helmet. "I'll stick around until someone tells me otherwise. Besides," she added, giving him a thumbs-up with her suit's lower arm. "Sounds like you're gonna need the extra firepower."

"Alright, fall in," Simmons said as he waved for the squad to follow behind him. "These coordinates point to a location about a kilometer to our North-East. That area hasn't been cleared yet, so watch for critters. Sunny, I want you on overwatch. If you see something that doesn't show up on the IFF system, I want you to shoot first and ask questions never."

"You got it, boss," she replied as she began to stalk through the rubble of the ruined tower. "I'm in itchy trigger finger mode. Or, maybe itchy spinal implant mode, since I don't actually use my hands to fire these guns."

"That's more information than I needed," Hernandez muttered, setting off behind her.

CHAPTER 4: FOUR LETTER AGENCIES

They made their way through the ruined trenches, sticking to cover. This area had already been hit pretty hard, so they weren't expecting much resistance, but it was still nerve-wracking to be separated from the rest of the company. It was somewhat difficult to go undetected with Sunny's ten-foot frame walking along beside them, but she was at least much more resistant to small arms fire than the average Marine. The IFV was driving some distance off to their right, keeping them covered with its blister as they advanced.

"There are so many bunkers and gun towers," Hernandez mumbled as they trudged through the shell of a ruined structure. It had been reduced to chunks of resin and mounds of loose earth by artillery fire, the massive cannon that had once sat in its dome now lying twisted and warped, buried in the debris along with the bodies of its operators. "You ever make mud castles as a kid?"

"Mud castles?" Evan repeated, giving him a sideways glance through his visor as he swept his rifle across the room. "Hernandez, where the fuck did you grow up?"

"You fill a bucket with mud and upturn it," he continued, ignoring the question as he gave a partially-buried Drone a tap with his boot. "If it's sticky enough, it'll stay that way. Me and my brothers would build castles, but they'd always fall apart after a while. That's what this reminds me of. I feel like a toy solder walkin' through one of the mud castles we used to make."

"Was this before or after you were killing gophers with grenades?" Evan asked.

"You ain't got no respect for country livin', Evan."

They were interrupted by a flash of light and a loud bang, the squad ducking reflexively, readying their weapons.

"It's alright," Simmons said, rising to glance at the sky warily. "It's just lightning."

Evan turned his visor to the roiling clouds above, seeing another bright fork dance between the ash clouds. A droplet of water landed on his helmet, then another, rain starting to spatter the shattered blocks of resin that surrounded them.